There have many baseball greats. One of them, Willie Mays, has quite rightly received much praise, especially recently.

But I’d like to tell you about the player who has a firm place in my heart.

He’s Lou Johnson.

He was an outfielder during the 1960s. He played in 677 games, was at at bat 2,049 times, hit 48 home runs, and had a batting average of .258.

But he was very, very nice to me.

I believe it was the summer of 1966. I lived in Arcadia, California. Southern California suffered through about six days a week of heavy smog. I could not see mountains a mere mile away. I can still feel the horrible stinging in my eyes whenever I think of that smog. I’m suffering through such a flashback as I type.

I was an Angels fan; my brother rooted for the Dodgers. And because my brother followed the Dodgers, I felt obliged to hate them. So, I felt quite unhappy when my mother said we were going to a supermarket parking lot to get a signed poster of a Dodger!

The line was long. The polluted air stung my eyes. Tears rolled down my face. I could not keep my eyes open. My mom had to lead me forward.

I don’t remember exactly what happened. But Lou Johnson noticed my distress and talked to me. I really can’t remember what he said, my eyes were in too much pain. I made the effort to get a glimpse of this wonderful man.

Oh gosh, I’m tearing up something fierce, it must be from that onion I’ll be dicing for dinner.

– Paul De Lancey, The Comic Chef, Ph.D.